


'Normal'

by Alice_huhhuhhhu



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Boredom, Friendship, John Is So Done, One Shot, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is bored, Thunderstorms, could be read as platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-02-01 03:03:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21348637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_huhhuhhhu/pseuds/Alice_huhhuhhhu
Summary: "Nothing unusual, just a normal rainy evening at 221B Baker Street. Well, not normal in the sense of ordinary or common, rather normal as in Sherlock was being Sherlock and John tried not to let that distract him […] ."
Relationships: Mrs. Hudson & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Mrs. Hudson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	'Normal'

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who found the courage to leave their comfort zone and write for another fandom! Spoiler: it's me.  
This is nothing big or extraordinary, but I enjoyed the challenge, so I hope it's not too OOC.  
Enjoy ^^

Nothing unusual, just a normal rainy evening at 221B Baker Street. Well, not normal in the sense of ordinary or common, rather normal as in Sherlock was being Sherlock and John tried not to let that distract him from the bright light of the screen in front of him.

He was sitting comfortably in his chair, his tired, yet focused eyes scanning the sentences for any possible errors. The last case hadn’t been particularly interesting, downright “boring” as the world’s only consulting detective would say, but it was pouring and thundering and there was nothing better to do than to record the recent events.

“Wrong” he mentally corrected himself, his eyes leaving the screen for just a second to scan the mess around himself. He could clean up the room, but that would be useless, it would all look the same after at least an hour. He could try to keep Sherlock from filling another jar with human eyes and put it into the fridge where it surely would scare Mrs. Hudson again and -nope, too late. John didn’t even bother to complain, too used to this daily madness he called a normal Tuesday evening.

Another paragraph done. With a sigh, he looked up again, shaking his head at what he saw. Sherlock was walking in circles, muttering what sounded like “boring, boring, boring…” under his breath while scanning the room for anything that could possibly distract him from this terrible thing people called free time. His eyes landed on the gun on a nearby table and John ducked instinctively, knowing what was about to happen next.

Three shots punctuated by particularly loud crashes of thunder.

A few seconds later, there were three more holes in the wall than before, and yet again John thought about what poor Mrs. Hudson would say about this development. Pressing his lips together but still keeping quiet, he shrugged once and continued, remaining in a slightly cowering position though in case his flatmate decided to use his harpoon to attack the wall next. Judging by the look of frustration on Sherlock’s face, the thought might have occurred to him as well.

“John?”

John hit the ‘save’ icon at the top of the screen and let his laptop snap shut. Sherlock had sat down in his own chair in front of him, still holding the gun in his hands, examining every scratch on its surface as if he knew exactly where it came from, which he probably did.

“Normal people have a cup of tea or read a book, you know?” John mentioned half-heartedly, aware of the fact that his efforts were pointless but trying nonetheless. This was Sherlock, and nobody knew him better than- wait, no. Nobody truly knew him, because he was _Sherlock_, for heaven’s sake. Predicting that man’s actions was as impossible as trying to make him behave like a normal human being, so success was out of the question anyway.

“Normal. Boring. And how often do I have to repeat myself, I am not people. I’m _me_.”

John couldn’t hold back the whispered “and that’s the problem”, and so he didn’t. The look Sherlock cast in his direction was spiteful, but totally worth it. A knock on the door startled both of them. John assumed it was a client, but with a knowing expression, the taller man gestured for him to get up and open it, obviously not interested in whoever might be behind it.

“Oh you lazy- “ John began, but quickly made his way towards the door anyway to let in a cheerful Mrs. Hudson. “I’ve got biscuits for you two!” she announced, making her way to the kitchen and searching for teacups while Sherlock demanded “Black. Two sugars, please” from his position in the chair. Mrs. Hudson pretended not to hear it as she went on. “_I’m still not your housekeeper_, but I thought I should come up and check what Sherlock did to the wall again. Do you have any milk in- “

The “here” never left her mouth because she had opened the door to the fridge and spotted the freshly filled jar of eyes. Swallowing her mixed feelings of disgust and curiosity, she determinedly closed it again. “Maybe not.”

At that moment, the lights flickered before they went out completely, followed by another thunderclap. The only light source now were the warm flames in the fireplace which cast dramatic shadows onto the walls. It was significantly darker, but much more comfortable, and John noticed how tired he really was. All he wanted was a cup of tea, some biscuits, a warm bed and a few hours of sleep. He and Mrs. Hudson carefully made their way back into the living room where Sherlock still sat in his chair, staring out of the window and most likely trying to deduct when the thunderstorm would be over.

“Still bored. What about my coffee?” he asked, and John was sure he did so just to piss him off because the man definitely knew about the disadvantages of a power outage.

The three of them were silent for a minute before the soft buzzing sound of a phone caught their attention. A message. When Sherlock eagerly picked it up and started to read, his eyes lit up with joy. Jumping up from his position and practically running towards the door, he threw on his coat and mentioned for John to follow him.

“Lestrade found a body. Are you coming or not?” The look he cast his best friend wasn’t demanding, but rather questioning. John was sure that the taller one had noticed how tired he was at this point, and surely, he wouldn’t force him to come along and visit a crime scene during a heavy thunderstorm, but…

John looked at Sherlock’s face, at his radiant smile, and involuntarily, he had to smile as well. His bed could wait.

“Coming.”

And just like that, Sherlock's smile got a tiny bit wider. 

"The game is on!" he exclaimed, turned up the collar of his coat enthusiastically and was already halfway down the stairs, John close behind him. 

Mrs. Hudson watched the two of them through the window until they entered a cab and drove off. Lost in thought, she sat down in the red armchair and stared into the fireplace with a happy sigh.

Nothing unusual, just a normal rainy evening at 221B Baker Street.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering: yes, I do ship Johnlock . And I'm almost certain this isn't the last fanfic I'll write for this fandom.  
Feedback is always appreciated ^^


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